Vacancy in the Heart -- my daydream extract

The female staggered, then fell onto her knees. She could no longer walk for she had no strength. A distant rumbling was heard, and it pushed her to stand up. Without walking more than two steps, she collapsed again. This time she lay still on the ground, still breathing, absolutely exhausted. She knew that she had to hurry if she wanted to live. Every cell in her body knew that. Despite that, her body would not move. There was too much fatigue. Totally, thoroughly, drain of stamina. Her mouth felt dry, for it was days since she last drank. The rumbling grew louder as the snow storm drew nearer. I and the dead, she thought. It was snowing again. Large flakes of freezing snow rained onto her. It was not long before she was totally submerged under the white substance. Then she heard the soft thump made by trotting horses. She wanted to move, to seek help, but her body felt numb. Help was so near, but yet so far. The thump stopped. For a moment that seemed like years, she heard nothing. Then gloves were scraping against the snow. Paws too. Soon, she was above ground. It was a man, with his dog. He carried her limped body onto he carriage, then started it. She was aware of her surroundings, but was too tired to react. Darkness ate away the corners of her vision as he eyes fell close.

There was not much to eat during the storm. The man did not have more that some antique bread crumb and sips of water. It was confounding. It took weeks to travel from town to town, and yet the man brought no food. She never saw him eat anyway. When she was strong enough to remember more then mere scraps of information, she found that she never remember seeing his face. He wore a cape with a hood, casting a shadow over his face, and a sword fastened to his belt, concealed by the cape. He spoke little, sheer grunts of orders. But his dog seemed to understand even the slightest grunt from him. it was as if he could talk to his dog. The carriage was in a cave, and the horses freed from its hold. The man didn’t seem afraid that they’ll run away. The man never spent more that five minutes in the carriage. He slept under it. The question of how he stood against the cold was never answered. Neither was the question of how and why he did not eat. They all remained as mysteries to her till this day, long after her death. Finally, the storm stopped. He brought her home and left without even looking back. It was not that she expected him to do so, but when ever she looked at the back view of the departing carriage, she felt a strange sense of belonging. She called out to hum, asking him to stop. Then she requested for his name. Without seeing his face, she felt the presence of a sad smile. “A shadow,” he spoke, “in your life. That’s what I am.” And so, he left. Reserving an empty, vacant spot in her heart. A shadowy, unsolved mystery in her mind.

Under the Crescent Moon (exploring new writing styles)

He paced up and down in his living room. To tell, or not to tell? He could not make up his mind. She was the first person who accepted him as a friend since that day. He should have never kept it a secret from her. But now all that mattered was whether he would tell her and how. Would he risk it? Could he risk it? Would she judge him for who he was, or how he is now? The questions lingered in his mind long after the incident. The doorbell rang. His mouth felt so dry it kept sticking to the top of his mouth. In a few quick steps he rushed to open the door. There she was, beautiful as ever. Her sapphire blue eyes were mesmerizing. Her scent, it filled his eyes, nose, and mouth. Their eyes met, and they stood there in silence for a while. Then she asked him if he was going to let her in and what the important thing he wanted to tell her was. He invited her in and went to get some water for the both of them. Finally, they both sat down, facing each other. She told him to tell her what he wanted to say, and he asked her if she really wanted to know. She nodded. He toyed with his fingers for a while, the told her everything, stammering every now and then. He saw the colour got drained from her face. When he finished, he asked for her forgiveness. He reached out to stroke her hair. She shoke her head, backed away and told him that she was leaving. Without hesitation she ran out of the open door. He sat there for a while in bewilderment and sorrow, then raced out after her. He called out to her, but she ignored him. He reached out to grab her arm and pulled her back. Only then did he realise that tears were flowing down her cheek, only centermetres away. Their eyes met for the second time. In the midst of the night, two shadowy figures kissed, bathed in the soft light from the crescent moon.

Sunset

I watched, the sun, as it left,

A huge blazing ball,

Plunging into the huge mass of water.

It called to me,

Pleading me to follow it.

Far into the horizon,

A place where no one ever went,

A place that no one ever dreamt of.

To the fading light,

I waved.

See you, my friend, tomorrow.

Outlaw

“This is the end,” spoke the knight, “or shall I say, your end.” “You will fall,” sneered the other, hacking the air before him with his heavy battleaxe. “You,” spat the knight as he pointed his sword at his opponent, “shall not live to see the sunrise.” He immediately regretted what he had declared. “Fine, if I see the sun, you lose and die.” “There is no one here to witness what I had just said,” he paused, letting a sour expression creep onto the warrior’s face, “but I shall keep it.” The warrior toyed with his battleaxe and pointed at his own forehead. “If you can even scratch my forehead, you win. I doubt this will last more than five minutes.” “Agreed. Enough of this junk, start!” almost instantaneously, the knight disappeared, wanting to surprise the axe wielder from the back. But the latter knew his style and slammed his axe into the space behind him. Doing so, he used both of his hands. A whisper was heard, “Not bad, but end of show.” Holding his dagger in his free hand, he reached up and marked a single line across the warrior’s forehead. The warrior, totally taken by surprise, stood there, aghast, then he closed his eyes, deep in thoughts. “That’s what you think,” the warrior said, despite his promise, “The real show has just begun. Good will always overcome evil, I will never lose” Sighing, the knight jumped out of the warrior’s way and concealed himself. “In a battle, my friend, what you fight for doesn’t matter. How you fight does.” His voice seemed to come from all sides and the warrior was unable to distinguish where it came from. “ I’ll never be your friend you son of the –“ Everything halted. The breathing of the man not far from death paused, even the passing wind ceased. After a long silence, the knight spoke, “What did you say? WHAT DID YOU SAY?!” The warrior smiled and replied, “bitch.” “Never insult my mother I’m telling you! NEVER!” The warrior’s head went flying and blood was spilled onto the ground. The knight walked away as if nothing every happened. So, he thought, I have not choose the way of the knight, the one I’ve always wanted, but the way of the outlaw. Having killed such an important warrior of the city, the knight found no other category that he could classify himself in. the people in the city would never look at him like a normal person now. He was an outlaw. What would he do now, as an outlaw? Rob? Steal? Or kill? None suited him. I need to find a place to settle down. He walked away from the scene of murder, never to be seen again. The crimson sun rose, marking the start of a new day.

I hate my life

Ever thought that your life suck so much you fell like just smashing everything infront of you? Congratulations, join the club. Today can't be worse. I woke up at five in the morning, realizing that it's only five, and then after spending like half an hour, i finally went back to sleep. Then i had to wake up at six again to go to school. When i went to school i found out that i left my maths worksheet at home. Then i found another copy in my bag, totally blank. When my teacher was going through i had to scribble like mad. After school i still had to stay back for supplementary lesson until 3.30, which meant that i will only reach home at 4. Yay, i forgot to mention that i have 4 four worksheets which i need to finish by tomorrow and tuition from 7 to 9. 'Lucky' me. I'm telling you, I'm NOT doing.

Year 2540 -- the World's end

The clan leader was a man of great wisdom. But no matter how great you are, you cannot overcome the power of Mother Nature – or what’s left of it. We humans don’t consider ourselves as part of the natural environment, for we think that we are the mightiest and the greatest. But I’ve always believed that we are part of it. My tribe staggered along, with the tribe leader in the lead. It was days since we last drank and the grey clouds looked ominous, but promising. The tribe leader sniffed the moist air. “It’s about time.” I believed I heard a groan. I smiled to myself silently. The time has finally come, the time when humans finally realize that they are part of nature. Rain began to fall as the tribe scaled the cliff. And along the way, a few fell and didn’t make it. But no one turned back. With the same fate before us, no one cared. We found a small modest cave, where we took refuge from the rain. No one spoke a word; we just sat down in silence. Form the cave I could see our far away city, which used to look so grand and magnificent. But now it’s just like all the other cities, standing there, abandoned. I closed my eyes and waited for the world to close itself, with only the sound of breathing and the patter of rain interrupting my concentration. We waited. The sound of breathing softens, then stopped completely. Everyone was limped and cold. I sat there, alone, and waiting… … waiting… …

Some thoughts

Actually to me, I don't really like Singapore's primary school education system. It's like you can just score by memorizing and memorizing. Just after the exams you can forget all that you've learn. For schools that force pupils to memorize compositions, I think that it's even more pointless. Writing, to me, is a kind of enjoyment, not a chore. But if someone made me memorize compositions when I was young, I'll think that writing compositions is a chore. I don't have my own style, I'm just rewriting something that someone else has written. You might say that you get high marks and things like that, but is going to school just about scoring in exams? Is writing just about scoring in exams? I don't enjoy writing Chinese compositions, particularly because it has little room for imagination. It is a chore to me. Totally meaning less since I can't really express myself in those compositions. In my school, writing Chinese compositions is just memorizing good phrases, not actually enjoying it. What, I always ask myself, is the point in doing that?